


Save A Horse, Ride A Rollercoaster

by SkazuhiraMiller



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Banter, But super duper late, Comedy, Divorced Dog Dad Kaz, Fluff, I use the Ocekaz death pact meta to accomplish Great Floof, M/M, My apologies to anyone who is actually versed in Cowboy Bullshit, Ocelhira week 2018, Ocesplaining, The Evil Is Defeated so let Oce have a much-needed Vacation, and Extra Crispy Big Boss, authentic California Theme Park Experiences, awful names for cars, dog lore, mentions of Nadine and Catherine Miller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 17:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13745496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkazuhiraMiller/pseuds/SkazuhiraMiller
Summary: 5 months after Big Boss gets extra crispy, Kaz’s relaxing morning with his dog is interrupted by a certain cat. He does the reasonable thing and takes him on a disgustingly cute date to a cowboy theme park.





	Save A Horse, Ride A Rollercoaster

**Author's Note:**

> Originally conceived for Ocelhira Week 2018 Prompt "Mandatory Vacation" but now I'm finishing it up for MGS Winter Games, Challenge F3 "Dogs" Mac the Shiba is best girl, ever.

Miller flips through channels. Remote control in his metal hand, and his other hand resting on the back of the golden red shiba inu lying at his side. Dumb reality show -- commercial -- ooh, home shopping network -- another commercial -- one of those cartoons Cathy likes -- high-speed car chase on the local news -- a documentary about Central American wildlife catches his eye. He sets down the remote.

He immediately recognizes the animal onscreen.

“The agouti is a large rodent. They mainly eat fruit,” says the narrator’s soothing voice. Miller didn’t have the luxury of such information the time he first encountered one. A certain Boss he’d rather not name deposited one, two of these rodents, recently deceased, on the counter in front of Kaz and the entire mess hall team.

He declared, “You can do something with this, right?”

Everyone stared wide-eyed to Commander Miller for a response.

“This is a paramilitary corporation, not a goddamn camping trip. You can’t expect us to cook up everything you drag in like a housecat,” Kaz said.

His boss was unfazed by this. “Hrghrhgh… More for me then.”

Miller snaps out of his flashback when the dog beside him stands up and jumps off the couch. Her little ears perk up and she barks, loud and high-pitched, turning towards the window.

“Mac! Girl, what do you hear?” Miller says, on his feet.

He hears something outside. Definitely too big to be another raccoon. He sighs. He walks to the bedroom, retrieves his handgun from the safe in the closet, and loads it. He steps outside.

“Alright. You have five seconds to show yourself before I call the cops. Don’t think about coming at me. I won’t hesitate to shoot,” he says, loud and firm. “Five… Four… Three… Two…”

Before he can say “one,” a tall, slender man with long gray hair in a duster and cowboy boots steps out from behind a palm tree, red gloved hands raised.

“Ocelot?” He lets the surprise in his voice seep through just this once. “Come to kill me, once and for all?”

Ocelot smiles as he approaches. “You know I only said all that stuff about killing you _for the record_.”

Miller lowers the gun and Ocelot lets himself into the side door. Of course. Cat goes where he pleases. He’s greeted by an excited Mac, curled tail wagging. He crouches to pet her. “Besides, how could I leave such a sweet angel without a dad? What’s her name?”

“Mac,” Miller reprimands, “You were just warning me about this dangerous intruder two minutes ago.”

“Mac,” says Ocelot, to the esteemed bearer of the name, pinching the extra skin around her face lightly. “Short for macaroni and cheese?”

“No.”

“Mac...donalds?”

“You know I have better taste in burgers than that.”

“Fleetwood Mac?”

“As much as I love Stevie Nicks, no.”

“Apple Macintosh?”

Miller rolls his eyes. “Macaron. Because she’s soft and sweet and that’s Cathy’s favorite dessert I make for her.”

Ocelot removes his hands from the dog and pulls back dramatically. He turns to Miller and raises his eyebrows. “She’s _French?”_

“No, asshole. She’s a Shiba inu and we got her here. She’s Japanese-American. You apologize to her _right now._ ”

Ocelot scratches Mac behind the ears. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He kisses the white spots above her eyes. Mac sneezes.

“Guess she doesn’t like your cologne.”

“That never stopped _you_.”

“Her sense of smell is much better than mine, to be fair,” Miller scoffs.

Mac rolls onto her back and Ocelot indulges her, scratching her soft, white belly. “It’s been such a long time… I’ve missed being around dogs,” he says.

Missed seeing dogs, huh? Miller smirks. He’s sure _that’s_ it. He decides to press the issue.

“Really though, what brings you here?”

“I heard California is beautiful this time of year.” He isn’t wrong. It was May, and gorgeous outside.

“That’s every time of the year. There aren’t really seasons here.”

“Well, it turns out I had leave. Concurrently, from every organization I’m ‘working’ for.”

Miller can take a wild guess as to why _that_ was, though it wasn’t something he wants to reflect on just yet.

“Leave, huh? Don’t you have a side gig as a rodeo clown or something for those times?”

“Very funny. You’d actually be surprised how important the role of the rodeo clown is to the whole operation.”

“Alright, I get it. The rodeo clown industry’s run into tough economic times.”

Ocelot looks up at Miller. “Honestly? I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

Mac gets up and wanders into the living room.. Ocelot and Miller follow her. She hops up on the couch.

“She’s allowed on the furniture?”

“She’s a first-class citizen in Casa Miller as far as I’m concerned.”

Ocelot plops down on the couch. His eyes flick to the TV screen. Still playing that nature show -- that currently happens to be featuring his namesake.

“We watch the juvenile ocelot stalking its prey,” the narrator says.

“What’s this?” Ocelot laughs, “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“The mammals of Costa Rica are fascinating, what can I say? Shame they didn’t do a bit warning everyone at home that ocelots may show up in your backyard without any warning.”

Mac manages to stretch out across both of their laps. Ocelot rests a hand on her back.

“Seriously, though. If you really did come out here just to play with my dog… Is it safe?”

“Would I endanger you so recklessly?”

Miller raises an eyebrow. _Oh, boy._

“Don’t answer that. But honestly. I give you my word that I wouldn’t be here right now if I thought I was putting you or your family in danger. After all these years, you deserve better.”

“Damn right I do. Are you sure it’s totally safe though? You don’t exactly blend in looking like a Clint Eastwood extra.”

“Let me check and see if I brought any _normal_ clothes,” Ocelot says. He looks down at his shiba companion. “If _someone_ will allow me to get up, that is.”

“Mac, down,” Miller commands, and Mac jumps off onto the carpet. Miller produces a dog treat from a compartment in his metal hand and gives it to her. “Good girl!”

They exit out the front door. Miller stops dead in his tracks. His eyes are assaulted by a shiny red muscle car with _heavy_ customizations. The rims look like revolver barrels-- six shots. Miller would be willing to bet money they _fucking spin_ when the car is on. The interior is all done up in cheetah -- sorry, _ocelot--_ print. Crossed revolvers hood ornament. A license plate from -- _holy shit, really? Texas? --_ that reads “MEOWWW.” The most expensive affront to good taste Miller has seen since Venom insisted on painting the entirety of Mother Base pink.

“What the fuck is _that_?” Miller says, incredulous.

“It’s Julius Caesar, my beloved steed,” Ocelot says, beaming.

“I will not have _the Ocerati_ parked in my fucking driveway. Move it. Now. And don’t think about parking it in front of my house either. Street sweeping is tomorrow morning and you don’t want to get ticketed.”

Ocelot’s eyes are wide. Miller could swear he sees them sparkle. “I’m- staying over?”

“You said you didn’t know where else to go.”

“Can I sleep with Mac?”  
  
“If she wants to.”

Ocelot grins and opens the car door. “You don’t want to come with?”  

“The only way I’m getting in that _abomination_ is if you dragged my lifeless corpse into it.”

“That’s what you said about Mr. Deere, too.”

“The tractor was _one time_ . This time I mean it. Get that thing _out_ of my driveway.”

Ocelot chuckles. “Suit yourself, Miller.” He closes the door, starts the Ocerati, and backs out of the driveway.

God, he hasn’t seen Ocelot in years. The last time had been unexpected, like this time. He was out shopping for a birthday present for Nadine at the mall. It was the least he could do after he’d been out babysitting David. He took the whole Intrude N313 thing… real badly and Miller figured it he owed it to the kid to hang around and keep him out of the liquor cabinet.

He was minding his own business on his way to the fancy soap store when he got accosted by one of those skincare kiosk guys. He prepared to mumble an excuse and speed-walk away until he looked up and realized who it was. Far too wrinkly to be working at a kiosk like this, and with that unmistakable mustache. He sat through Ocelot’s rendition of the standard pitch, endured the guesses at his age (“30? 32? You don’t look a day over 40, sir, and I can help you!”) He even allowed Ocelot to foist a sample on him, hand lingering a moment too long on Miller’s only hand with skin. After a discussion of prices, which Miller could’ve sworn were grossly inflated even for mall ripoff standards, Ocelot slipped a pamphlet in his hand.

“Here’s our info if you ever happen to change your mind!” he said, peppy and salesmanlike.

It looked like a normal bullshit ad pamphlet. But this was Ocelot. He opened it up. He scanned and saw a prominently featured “Testimonials” section. The top review read “Five stars. V is alive and safe. Would recommend to a friend.”

Miller’s jaw dropped. He knew if he stayed there for much longer Ocelot’s cover could be blown. He nodded, holding back tears. He grasped Ocelot’s hand in both of his. “Thank you,” he said, and turned to walk away.

The time before that he’d last seen Ocelot… well…

Let’s just say some of Miller’s friends thought it would be funny to hire a stripper for his bachelor party. A… _mature_ stripper. Who was also a man. Whose gimmick was Cowboy. Turned out it was the only person Miller could ever envision being a gay old man cowboy stripper.

Speaking of which. He’s back from moving his car. Miller follows him back inside. Mac is going crazy running around their legs.

“Jeez, we were only gone for five minutes. You’d think it was nine years the way you act,” Miller teases, petting Mac’s neck.

“Can you blame her?” Ocelot looks around. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Miller points. “That way, on the right.”

Ocelot returns with his hair spilling down around his shoulders, released from the confines of his loose ponytail.

“Do you have an extra rubber band I could use? Mine snapped.”

Miller nods. “Probably, let me go check.”

He heads to the bathroom and opens a drawer. He remembers he’s been out of normal hair ties for about a week now and has resorted to using the cutesy ones he bought for Cathy. Before Nadine unceremoniously took her to get her hair cut too short to put up. Without telling him. So they were his now. He picked out one featuring a sparkly red Hello Kitty bow.

He presents it to Ocelot. Before he can say anything, Miller turns his head to reveal his own hair is tied up with a green scrunchy featuring Keroppi the Frog, Cathy’s favorite.

“Dads with fabulous hair make do,” he says, chuckling. “Plus, I thought it matched your outfit.”

Ocelot inspects the accessory against his red glove. “Not _quite_ the shade I would’ve chosen,” he says, affecting mock pretense, “but it will do.” He gathers his hair up and stretches the band out. He fastens it a few inches from the ends.

“How do I look?”  
  
Adorable. “Ridiculous, but that makes two of us,” Miller laughs. He takes a seat at the kitchen bar and Ocelot does the same.

“Now, I’ve been thinking of what kind of tourist bullshit we could do without you looking ridiculously out of place and-”

“We’re gonna do tourist stuff?” Ocelot can’t cover up the excitement in his voice completely.

“Duh. You’re on vacation, you think I’m gonna keep you here with me and Mac without so much as forcing you to try an In-N-Out Burger?”

“Are we gonna go to Disneyland?”

“No. Better.”

“Better than Disneyland?”

“Well, better for you, specifically. See, my first thought is that we could go to the antiques mall because everyone would just assume you’re part of the merchandise-” he smirks as Ocelot rolls his eyes, “- but then I remembered. Knott’s Berry Farm.”

“A… berry farm?”

“Yup. You get to drive a tractor and everything. Just like old times.”

“Really?” he sounds… almost too hopeful.

Miller chuckles. “No. I made that part up. Knott’s Berry Farm is an amusement park… Think Disneyland but more affordable.”

Ocelot snorts, “Of course, always looking out for the bottom line. Haven’t changed a bit-”

“Let me _finish_ ,” Miller hisses, “Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was _going_ to say that Knott’s Berry Farm is _Old West-themed_.”

Ocelot’s entire face lights up in a display that’s definitely the most excited Miller has ever seen a fiftysomething-year-old for a theme park.

“Looking like that you’ll fit right in,” he continues, “And, well, I kind of think you’re gonna love it. Nadine and I-” his voice falters, “took Cathy there for her birthday a few years back and it was a blast. We even saw a cowboy stunt show-- gun spinning and everything. If I didn’t know better I’d say you should get a retirement job there.”

“Ha, because I’ll never retire?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re up to but I’m sure the world is a much safer place with you pulling strings on what international incident should be staged next.”

“You think they’re all staged? Maybe I really _do_ have to kill you, Miller.”

“C’mon Ocelot, haven’t we had _enough_ murder-themed vacations together?”

“Hey, the ‘70s were a very shooty time for _good_ reason.”

“Yeah, but it’s 2000 now. A new millenium. The sooner we leave, the more we’ll get to do- come on.”

Miller quickly puts together a small backpack with a couple water bottles, a disposable camera, and some sunscreen. He’s pretty sure he was set himself but Ocelot? That man is pale as ever and will roast like a lobster with no intervention. He still remembers that time in Afghanistan… poor fuck matched his scarf for a whole week.

Miller kisses Mac goodbye and fills her bowl with kibbles to hold her over. “We’ll be back tonight, okay princess?”

He leads the way to the garage and turns the light on to reveal a 1996 black SAAB.

“Now, what _you_ need is a proper midlife crisis car,” Ocelot scoffs.  

“Unlike _some_ people, I actually respect myself.”

“Don’t you think, since we’re going to a Western-themed park, we could--”

“We are _not_ taking the Ocerati, so help me _God._ ”

“I’d let you drive him,” Ocelot says, singsong.

“Oh, gross, this one’s a him too?”

“Fine, I guess you _don’t_ want to experience _raw horsepower_ ,” Ocelot says and shrugs.

Miller presses the button to open the garage door. Sunlight floods in so he turns off the electric light. Ocelot notices a hot pink Barbie jeep in the corner.

“You sure we can’t take _that_?” he asks.

“Without even asking its rightful owner? I’m sure Cathy wouldn’t be happy.”

Miller unlocks the SAAB and slings the backpack into the backseat. Ocelot regards a surfboard before settling in to the shotgun position.

“Ah, so that’s why you don’t need a midlife crisis car. You picked up a midlife crisis _hobby_. Well, you couldn’t have picked a better place, I guess. Surf City, USA.”

“It’s cathartic. Takes my mind off shit. Sometimes Mac somes with me. All the guys and gals at the beach love her.” He pulls out of the garage and hits the button to close the door.

“I guess it pays to have a distraction in the wake of --” _God, don’t say it_ , “-- that divorce.” Wait, _what?_

“I didn’t tell you I got divorced,” Miller says, a bit more loudly than he intended.

“Well, first of all, you’re living alone, no? Second of all, it’s my job to know things. Remember? My job, that my life depends on. Believe me, Miller. I wouldn’t show up in your backyard if I was going to disturb your family.”

Miller sighs. “You’re a creepy son of a bitch, you know that?” He turns onto the freeway. Ocelot stares out the window, silent.

“Look, okay, I didn’t mean to get so defensive. I’m sorry -- it’s just -- that’s… kind of a rough topic for me, still. The whole first month living in that house, I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. When I did, Mac didn’t leave my side. She saved my ass so many times waking me up... I guess she knows what nightmares sound like.”

Ocelot lays a comforting hand on Miller’s shoulder. “You’re really lucky to have Mac.”

“Yeah. I felt bad taking her away from Cathy because, hell, I got her so she could grow up with a shiba like I did but… Nadine said some shit about never liking dogs anyway. Can you believe that? The _nerve_. I guess it’s for the best.”

Ocelot trails his hand down Miller’s shoulder before withdrawing. “Sorry for taking you back to such a bad place.”

Holy shit-- did -- Revolver _fucking_ Ocelot just _apologize_? Miller swallows his amazement.

“It’s alright. I’m taking us both forward to a good place now.”

They arrive at the park. Miller pays the $15 for parking, pulls through the gate, and sighs. “If I’d known there was a whole market in shaking people down to park their fuckin’ cars I may have considered doing _that_ instead of this war bullshit.”

“Well, you’d be two limbs richer; I’d imagine.”

Miller parks the car, gets out, and walks around to the passenger side. He pulls Ocelot into a tight hug.

“I missed you, you fuckin’ bastard.”

Ocelot stands silently for a second before returning the embrace. “I missed you too… Kaz.”

 _Kaz, huh?_ Miller pulls back, smiling and starts making his way across the parking lot. “C’mon. You’re gonna shit your cowboy pants when you experience _Ghost Rider_.” He throws his companion the bottle of sunscreen from the bag. “Don’t get deep-fried.”

Miller stops then, and squints, trying to make out Ocelot’s holsters under his coat. “ _Please_ tell me you don’t have the guns on you.”

“‘Course not. I know it’s viewed differently in these parts.”

“These parts?”

Ocelot gestures around. “You know, California. No one would bat an eye back in Texas.”

“I still don’t believe you’ve _actually_ been to Texas, _pardner_.”

They pass the gift shop. “Suit yourself. I’m not sure how you think I got that license plate.”

“Oh _please_ , like the fabled Shalashaska has ever been to a DMV in his life.”

Miller approaches the ticket sales window only to be cut off by Ocelot.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

Ocelot slides the money for both their tickets to the attendant. He turns to hand Miller his ticket. “You’re letting me stay in your house. It’s the least I can do.”

Inside the park, Ocelot eyes the towering wooden rollercoaster. “What’s that?”

“That’s what I was talking about earlier. Ghost Rider. You down or what?”

“Of course.”

“Good, because I was gonna make you go on it anyway.”

“And how’s that?”

“Repeatedly calling you a scaredy-cat. Probably.”

An old-timey jail cell catches Ocelot’s attention on the way over. He waits for a family to take their rambunctious children’s picture and vacate before entering, putting his hands on the bars and doing his best to look lonesome.

Miller pulls out the disposable camera and frames his shot.

“Six-Shooter Serval, yer hustlin’ days are over!” he says, clicking the shutter button and laughing.

Ocelot steps out of the cell. “Looks like Ol’ Six Shooter’s _back at large_ ,” he chuckles.

The line for Ghost Rider goes through a dimly lit wooden shack with prospector tools on the walls. Miller silently hopes the ride won’t break down again like it did last time. It’s pretty rickety, which is part of its appeal, but that means a lot of inconvenient maintenance.

They finally get to the front of the line. They sit down side by side in the ride’s car, Miller on the right and Ocelot on the left.

“Please remember to keep your hands, arms, and legs inside of the ride,” the ride attendant says in a monotone voice. Miller turns around to face the kid who’d been staring at his metal arm in line.

“You best do it or you’ll end up like me,” he says, pointing to his arm. The kid’s eyes go wide and the ride lurches forward. They wait as it ascends to the highest point, pushed up by rotating wheels. And then, gravity kicks in. It’s _fast_. Almost faster than Miller remembered. But the most thrilling part of Ghost Rider isn’t the speed, it’s how shaky the cars run on the wooden scaffolding and how on those turns, it almost feels like it’s life or death. It’s almost refreshing to experience that adrenaline rush outside an actual life-or-death situation.

Speaking of turns. The ride hits a hard bank and the entire car shakes like hell. Miller’s pretty sure he hears Ocelot say “Holy _crap_ ” and feels Ocelot’s hand tighten around his good hand in a death grip. When they arrive back at the beginning of the track, Ocelot looks down at their hands. He lets go and looks away as they disembark.

“So what’d you think?” Miller asks.

“It lives up to its name. That thing shakes so much it’s like it’s haunted.”

Miller smirks. “I’ll say. You seemed _awful_ scared.” He couldn’t just let that hand thing slide.

“Whatever.”

Ocelot is drawn to a stagecoach ride. Once they’re seated, he examines the surroundings. “Impressive, but real stagecoaches back in the day didn’t look quite like this. They were a little smaller inside. Also, they didn’t get held up by bands of Indians quite as often as Hollywood would have you believe.” Miller is just about to tell him that _no one cares_ when a kid sitting across from them raises his hand. Ocelot points at him. “Yes?”

“Did- did they really have duels at high noon?”

Oh my god, he really thinks he’s a tour guide. “Well, funny you should ask that,” he begins. His explanations are thorough and Miller doesn’t know enough about cowboy history to dispute them. He really _should_ get a job here when he retires.

Afterwards,they wander to the section of the park that’s themed like Old Mexico, bright and colorful with stucco architecture. Looks like Ocelot is taking interest in a ride where you sit in colorful spinning sombreros which are all moving around in a larger circle. The line’s pretty short, so why not?

They take their seats on opposite sides. In the center there’s a disk that lets riders control how fast their sombrero spins. Miller holds onto it with his metal hand, steadfast to prevent the thing from spinning out of control immediately. The ride starts.

Over the sound of the ride’s cheesy Latin music he could hear Ocelot humming. Is that?- yes. You Spin Me Right Round by Dead or Alive. Miller remembers that time in ‘83 in the controls room when they’d both had a few drinks and that song came on Diamond Dogs’ own radio station. Kaz was sitting in his big swivel chair, flushed from the alcohol, trying to keep a straight face while Ocelot lip-synched the words to the song, almost _prancing_ around him. He laid one hand on Kaz’s shoulder and pointed at his chest with the other as he looked him dead in the eyes, mouthing

“I’ve set my sights on you (and no one else will do)  
And I, I’ve got to have my way now, baby”

He slid his pointing hand to grasp Kaz’s tie.  
  
“All I know is that, to me,  
You look like you’re lots of fun”

He moved one hand to the chair’s armrest and appeared to prepare for something, never breaking eye contact and straining against the urge to crack the fuck up.

“Open up your loving arms  
Watch out, _here I come_ ”

He jumped into Kaz’s lap and sent the chair spinning.

“You spin me right round, baby, right round  
Like a record, baby, right round, round round”

They were laughing so hard their cheeks hurt. From the way Ocelot’s eyes are fixated on him now, never faltering, he’s pretty sure he’s thinking of the same thing. On a whim, Miller releases the disk and sends the ride spinning out of control. With some effort, Ocelot wrestles the disk back into submission, still humming and smiling, and shifts it to spin the other way and lets it go out of whack. Miller catches it and smiles at him like “you little _shit,”_ holds it for a few seconds, and lets it spin out the other way. They continue back and forth like this until the ride stops, and when they get off, Miller is dizzy. They exit and he missteps with his prosthetic leg. Ocelot catches and steadies him before he can fall on his face in front of some dazed teenagers.

“How the _hell_ are your reflexes so sharp after spinning that much? If you say spin-resistance training I am _going_ to kick your ass,” he inquires, walking and not shaking Ocelot’s supportive arm off just yet.

“I don’t have a feline codename for nothing.”

“Yeah, you have a feline codename because you thought it was _super cool_.”

“Was I wrong?”

“I don’t think _Ocelot_ conjures a very fearsome image… more adorable than anything else.”

Ocelot bats his eyelashes. “ _Was I wrong?_ ”

No. “ _Yes._ Speaking of Central American spotted cats, that ride over there,” he points to another rollercoaster, “is called Jaguar, wanna go?” Ocelot nods. “Just don’t meow or something weird when we go down the drops.”

“I can’t make any guarantees.”

After experiencing the dialed-back speed of Jaguar, Miller is ready for a snack. He spots a churro cart.

The churro merchant looks from Ocelot back to Miller. “Just one for you or one for your dad too?” Miller manages to turn his shocked laughter into a polite smile. They really look _that far apart_?

“ _Pfffch---_ Yes, please. Thank you.” He pays for the churros and hands one to Ocelot.

“Thanks, sonny boy!”

“Oh my God. Don’t be weird.”

They sit on a bench and eat. The churro is perfect- just the right amount of sweet and crispy. He looks over at Ocelot. He’s got cinnamon sugar all over his mustache.

“You look like a walrus that’s been eating sand.”

“ _Hmph_.”

“Let me get that for you.” Miller leans in, purses his lips, and attempts to blow the sugar off. It.. sort of works? And well, he’s already three quarters of the way there, so he closes his eyes and the space between them. Ocelot leans into the kiss. He tastes sweet, like churro. Miller breaks it off and in that moment he swears he hasn’t seen Ocelot smile like this since the ‘80s.

The next ride they venture to is the Timber Mountain Log Ride. A classic sit in a log boat and eventually go down a drop with a big splash at the end format.

“I hope you’re ok getting that coat wet,” Miller says as they approach.

The first section is a dimly lit tunnel inhabited by Gold Rush-themed animatronics.

Ocelot points to a scruffy prospector, shaking his gold pan back and forth. “It’s you!”

“How is it me?”

“A hardworking gold digger!”

“Don’t make me throw you overboard.”

“You had a whole decade to do that.” That’s fair.

The log boat approaches the light at the end of the tunnel. “By the way, the ride takes your picture during the drop,” Miller explains before they take the plunge.

He scans the screens at the kiosk at the end and finds their picture. Ocelot is holding up triumphant finger guns while Miller kisses him on the cheek.

“I don’t care that it’s overpriced, I’m fucking buying the print.”  It’s going up on the fridge next to Cathy’s drawing of Daddy fighting Godzilla with his chainsaw arm as soon as he gets home. If Nadine sees, so be it. She’d be happy to know he’s moving on.

Ocelot is practically tugging at his sleeve to go see the stunt show that starts in 5 minutes. Well, if he was wearing sleeves. During the gun portion Miller could swear Ocelot’s giddier than the five year old next to them making “pew pew” noises.

Once that’s out of the way, Miller points up at the rollercoaster that twists and turns and leaves its riders feet hanging.”You in?”

Ocelot looks unsure. “I don’t know, it looks pretty crazy.”

“It’s called Silver Bullet.”

Ocelot’s countenance is struck with determination. “ _We’re going on it._ ”

On Silver Bullet, there’s really nowhere to look but down. Which happens to be very far. The height and the G-forces of it all fill Miller with an emotion he’s been ignoring ever since Ocelot showed up. Among the screams of their fellow riders, he lets his voice join the fray.

“ _WE ROASTED THAT BASTARD FUCKIN’ GOOD! WE WON!”_

 _Someone_ had to say it. Ocelot squeezes his hand as the ride goes into an upside down loop, as if to say “we sure did.”

***

Miller navigates the SAAB towards home. “So, what did you think of Knott’s Berry Farm?” he asks. No answer. He turns to see Ocelot, sound asleep against the car window.

He pulls into the garage and wakes him up with a gentle hand. “We’re home now.”

Inside, Mac jumps on both of them, wagging her tail. “Who’s a good girl? She missed us _so much!_ ” Ocelot coos, petting her.

“She’s _supposed_ to not do that but… y’know, I let her sometimes. Your dog training methods were actually really helpful, especially because shibas are so stubborn but… it doesn’t matter quite as much when you’ve got a little dog who’s not gonna be knifing people.” Miller managed to actually absorb some of Ocelot’s lengthy lectures on dog training back when they brought DD in.

“She is too pretty to be knifing people. _Yes you are! Yes you are, Mac!”_ Ocelot goes silent for a bit. “Do you ever think about how… the Mac part of Mac and cheese could also be an acronym for Mac And Cheese… M-A-C?” Mac stares up wide-eyed at this revelation. Or, because, she’s a dog and she just heard her name five times. 

“You really _are_ tired.” 

Ocelot points a finger gun at Mac. "Bang!" Mac flops over, black paw pads in the air. An Academy-Award-winning performance. 

"She... she knows the best trick," he says, voice swelling with pride. Miller dispenses a treat from the bionic hand treat compartment and hands it to Ocelot. Mac snaps it up out of his hand. 

Ocelot looks up. “Hey, Kaz… Thank you. Today was great.”

Miller meets his eyes over his aviators and grins. “We’re not done yet. You haven’t seen where you’re sleeping.” Yeah. Sleeping. He takes Ocelot by the hand.  

Miller wakes up from a good dream. He’d check what time it is but he doesn’t want to move from his comfortable position, head nested on Ocelot’s chest, cradled in one of his arms. Ocelot’s other arm is around Mac, who is also sleeping soundly. Miller’s hand is tangled in a mess of silky silver hair and shiba fur. To use Ocelot’s own words, this was a _pretty good_ vacation.

 


End file.
